The Final Frontier

Money was tight in college.  Especially at State!  There was a seemingly endless list of things to buy and things to do.  Jobs were almost as scarce as the monetary situation! The economy sucked! This fact, coupled with another, that you must have experience in order to get a lousy paying, minimum wage job, meant that I was dependent solely on the scholarship and grant money that I had earned from being a nerd in high school.  Well, at least my “nerdiness” had paid off! 

Webster’s should have contacted me for a new meaning to the word “frugal”.  Meal tickets at the school cafeteria were expensive, and not covered by my scholarship, so Ramen Noodles became the staple in my diet, supplemented by an occasional run to the day old bread store when they had two-for-one sales on Wednesday!  I became a vegetarian by force because meat was way out of my budget.  I learned where all of the student haunts were located, especially the ones that offered “free” stuff.  Places like Big’un’s only charged fifty cents for all you could drink coffee or tea.  And, for $1.99 you could eat the “salad bar only, unlimited trips” at Bettye B’s.  This was my treat to myself when I had the extra cash.

I had just returned to class from Thanksgiving Break. Some Thanksgiving! My two week’s vacation consisted of scrounging aluminum cans from dumpsters and trash bins to sell to the recycling plant for $.15 per pound.  Twenty-seven cans equaled a pound, so I had to bust my hump in order to make a measly $15.00.  Of course, that $15.00 meant I could visit both the grocery store and the bread store, and still have money to burn! 

It was while I was on one of my daily forages that I saw the sign. It said, “Student Candidates for a Sleep Study—Participants will be paid $25.00 per Night”.  I knew that I had to sign up!  Paying me to sleep!  OK, I’ll bite, what’s the catch, I thought to myself.  I read the smaller print.  It directed me to the Psych Complex, Building C, Suite 4-A.  I must see Dr. Benton, there before noon on the 18th.  Today was the 18th, and Mickey’s hands on my trusty Mouseketeer watch indicated that it was 11:00 o’clock.  No time to waste!  I stowed my can bag behind some hedges where I could retrieve it later, and set out for the Psychology Complex to put my John Henry on the dotted line. 

Behind the receptionist’s desk was a middle aged lady with graying hair.  She was only a little snippy when she asked if she could help me.  I explained to her that I was there to sign up for the sleep study.  She pushed a clipboard through the window and told me to complete the paperwork.  It was a standard document asking for my name, address, age, next of kin, etc.  Much the same form as you normally complete in any doctor’s office where the information is placed on a manila folder that will hold detailed knowledge about my intimate history.  Form completed, I returned it to the woman behind the desk.  She told me to report to the lab in Room 426 at 9:00 p.m. that evening.  I would receive my pay voucher on the following morning.  The study should last for the remainder of the semester, and I could participate for as long as I chose.  One more thing, the study was confidential, and there should be no fraternization among participants.

Pay dirt!  I had hit pay dirt! I couldn’t imagine why there weren’t lines wrapped around this place that seemed, to me, to be giving out free cash!  I retrieved my cans and finished my trash can route.  Then, went back to my dorm to wait until I could get started “sleeping”. 

I reported to Room 426 early.  I found it to have another waiting room and yet another middle aged lady behind the receptionist’s desk.  She, however, had a much more pleasant demeanor, and told me to please have a seat, and someone would be with me shortly.  As I found a chair, I looked around the room.  There were several other students waiting there.  Most of them looked to be of the same economic status as was my fate. Some were reading. Others were watching the TV in the corner. None were talking.  Looked like they were taking this “fraternization” thing seriously. One pale blonde looked tired and like she couldn’t wait to find her bed for the night.  I sat in a chair near the window, and settled in for a wait. 

About thirty minutes later, at precisely 9:00 p.m. the door opened, and an attendant dressed in lavender scrubs called each of our names and asked that we follow her.  We were led to what appeared to be a ward with partitions sectioned off into cubicles.  Each cubicle had a bed, with some various types of machinery, a TV, a stack of the latest magazines, and some video games beside it.  Before being assigned beds, we were assembled in a conference room, and given individual instructions.

The instructions were simple. I was to entertain myself for a couple of hours, but at 11:00 p.m. sharp,  I would be hooked up to the monitors at my bedside, and must then go to sleep. The monitors would record any breaks in sleeping patterns, and any dreams that I might have as well as the effects caused while in REM sleep.

And, they were paying me for this?  Bring it on!

I looked through the selection of video games, and found one of my all time favorites, Zelda.  It had been a while since I had played it, but I got back into the swing of things quickly.  It was swiftly 11:00p.m., and the nurse came in to hook up my monitors. I was tired anyway. At lights out, I fell asleep. 

Dreams were plentiful that night.  Not nightmares, mind you, but pleasant dreams.  I was the hero in my quest to rescue a damsel in distress.  This done, they morphed into ships sailing off into beautiful seas with me at the helm of the largest one; a sea captain, of some importance, on his next adventure to claim fame and glory.  This dream gave way to others not so vivid as to be remembered upon waking. 

Morning dawned, and I was awakened by another attendant dressed this time in hot pink scrubs.  She asked that I please take some time to record details of any dreams that I remembered and reminded me of the confidentiality of the study.  When I was done with the ledger, I was free to leave, and could pick up my voucher at the receptionist’s counter.  She further instructed me that if I chose to participate in the next phase of the study, I should return at 9:00 p.m.

I picked up my voucher on my way out.  This had to be the easiest money ever! I was $25.00 richer than yesterday. I tallied up my “fortune” in advance.  In two weeks time, I would have $350.00.  This was unreal to me!  My existence had depended on less than that amount for several months now. There must be some sort of catch!  There had to be!

At 8:50 the next evening, I arrived along with several others at Room 426.  Since we were “returning participants”, we were ushered into another room where there were refreshments awaiting us.  Man, this was nice!  I selected a decadent chocolate brownie the size of a saucer, and chowed down.  It had been a while since my taste buds had enjoyed anything this good!  The chocolate was dark and rich, and it had an underlying taste of something I couldn’t quite name. Not just plain coffee was served, but rich cappuccino.  Luscious delicacies were offered, whose aromas assaulted my deprived nostrils, as well as my underprivileged digestive tract. Just a few minutes past 9:30 p.m. and already I was yawning.  I couldn’t believe how sleepy I was getting.  I found my way to my assigned cubicle, and fell into bed before the attendant arrived to hook me up. 

My dreams were more complex that night; complex, but not disturbing.  The characters were more convoluted.  The ideas were more intricate. The situations were deeper and more drawn-out than the ones of the previous night.  I wrote several pages in my journal describing them.  I found that I recalled more detail than before, although it seemed that I awoke feeling more sluggish this morning.  I collected my second voucher and was off to class. 

In the next few days, I began to recognize several of my fellow sleep study comrades.  The blonde that I had noticed on the first day seemed even less rested than originally, although, I would not have thought that possible. Gradually, we began to gravitate towards one another, possibly more so because we had been warned and warned against doing so.  We began meeting in the student center on campus and ultimately began comparing experiences.  Several had been in the study for months, while others like me were just beginning.  The blonde, whose name was Beth, was one of the older participants.  She had been among the first, and was recruited by her Psychology professor.  She said that she had a history of psychiatrists in her childhood.  She was no stranger to therapy or therapists.  We learned over time that her parents had been killed as a result of a home invasion that she had witnessed, and the details had plagued her since she was four years old.  She had suffered a head injury as a result of the episode. When she recovered, she said that she often dreamed of death.  Not hers, but that of other people.  Her dreams were taking on paranormal traits, and she was frightened of that turn.  People that were in her childhood dreams had been injured in real life, but nothing fatal had happened to them. It was just that their injuries had certain similarities to her dreams.  She didn’t elaborate.

We were becoming friends.  Ivan and Jimmy and Sharon and Beth began making plans that included me.  I had been a social pariah for too long, and I enjoyed the camaraderie.  Something good (besides the cash) was coming from this study.  I was enjoying the financial benefits and the new found friendships, but admittedly did not look forward to the nights spent in ever increasing dreams. 

I learned about their homes and families and shared some of my background as well.  Beth was a foster child who had been in the system since the death of her parents.  She said that she was happy to be at the university.  This was the most normal thing that had happened to her since she was a child. It was where she felt she was meant to be. She was a Psych major and wanted to be a social worker to help kids like herself.  She told us she loved it here, and basically, she was homeless and had nowhere else to go.

Our group sometimes discussed the study, along with our experiences there.  We felt that possibly they were giving us something to enhance the probability of our dreams; we weren’t sure what.  We found that if we did not partake of the refreshments offered, there were fewer dreams. If we over-indulged, the dreams were more vivid.  But, then, that happened sometimes even when we ate late or ate overly seasoned foods before we had entered the study.  So, maybe we were wrong.  It was possible that we weren’t used to the wonderfully delicious fare that was unaffordable in our present situations.

Beth had entered a sleep deprivation phase of the study, which accounted for her tiredness.  She told us that she actually preferred this to the nightmares of death that she had been having.  Although the faces of the victims were indiscernible, they all died gruesome deaths, and she was sure that these were people that she knew.  Faceless, though they were, she felt the bond and mourned their loss.  Now in her sleep deprived state, she found that the dreams were permeating her consciousness, and it was taking its toll as well.  She shuddered at the thought of something happening to someone about whom she had dreamed.

Of course we all wanted to know if we were actors in her nightly psychic “movies”  She was reluctant to name names for fear that speaking them would make her dreams become realities.  Little did we know how real these fears would become.

Jimmy came into the student center that afternoon sporting a cast on his leg and walking with crutches.  Beth turned even paler, if that were possible. He explained that he had been walking to class this morning, and had been hit by a landscaper who was not paying attention.  Thank goodness, the driver was riding on his ATV while spraying the hedges, and not mowing.  It might have resulted in more than the fractured femur of his left leg that would heal in about six weeks. 

Noticing Beth’s pallor, I asked her what was wrong. “I dreamed of Jimmy last night.  It was just as he said.  He was walking to his class when one of the landscape crew ran over him.  I saw him lying there, except in my dream he was hit by a tractor with a mower, and there was little left to identify.” 

She was visibly upset.  “It is starting all over again!” she sobbed.

Puzzled, we tried to make light of the similarities. Jimmy said that he was glad that her dream’s outcome was skewed and he only got a broken leg out of it, instead of being mangled. But no amount of our joking could ease her anxiety. She picked up her things and ran out of the room.
After that day, we didn’t see Beth around. It was as if she disappeared into thin air.  She wasn’t at the complex in the evenings, nor did we see her as we left the following morning.  It looked like she had dropped out of the study.

Several weeks passed. I finally got up the nerve to mention her name to my sleep attendant that evening.  I was told that Beth had withdrawn from the study and from school. The nurse added that Beth had returned to her home to pursue other interests, and perhaps take a position in the family business.

Odd.  Beth had no home nor family.  She had been adamant about her loss and the lack of living relatives. She had been a ward of the court since she was four. 

Our group met that afternoon sans Beth, yet again. Today, Ivan was also missing.  After several days of his absence, we learned that he, too, had met with a twist in fate.  He was in the hospital.  He was critical, but he would survive.  He had been on his way to the bank to cash in his latest voucher when a man with a gun approached. The man shot Ivan several times and left him for dead on the street. One shot was to his back and he would be paralyzed.  There would be no return to school for at least a year while he learned to deal with his injuries.

Summer came.  School was finished for most.  I stayed on to attend the summer semester. Our “group” went its various ways, as most do.  I continued with the study, although I was one of the few there.  Summer didn’t bring in many prospects.  There was no one I recognized, and my reluctance to befriend anyone returned.

In the student center one day, I happened to pick up a newspaper.  The headlines jumped from the print!  Former State University Student Murdered.  I read further to find that the victim was my friend, Sharon.  Someone had broken into her first floor apartment while she slept.  She had been terrorized and held captive for several days while her assailant tortured her with unspeakable horrors.  She died, thankfully, before the invader had finished his maniacal cruelties.  Her death was agonizing!  And, she hadn’t been found until someone noticed a fetid odor.  It appeared that because she was a loner, no one had missed her.  Now the sensationalism of her death was attracting the attention that her life never had.  Her killer remained at large.

That is when the phone calls started.  My phone would ring only for me to find the rush of empty static on the other end, then the sound of an abruptly ended call, and finally a dial tone.  After many weeks of these hang ups, I finally discerned a faint voice whispering my name. The sound was like a haunting memory.  It was only my name, nothing else, and was barely audible.  The calls came infrequently, at first.  Then, they became an onslaught.  My name was the only thing heard, and it came to be followed by a keening wale.  Then, incessant babbling in an unknown language would follow. 

It was about 7:00 p.m. when I got the call from Beth.  She said, “I have been dreaming of you,”  then, hung up.  Although I had never heard her voice on the phone, there was no mistaking it.  It was chilling!  The hairs on the nape of my neck rose as I recalled her retelling of her dreams and their consequences.    I felt goose bumps rise on my arms and legs as I wondered if she had dreamed of Sharon, too.  Of the five friends, there had been three misfortunes. Two of them were not fatal.  One of those, left Ivan in a wheel chair for the remainder of his days.  Sharon had been brutally murdered.  Beth had disappeared. That left only me.

And, Beth, the harbinger of preordained fates was contacting me with the portent that she was dreaming of me!  This did not bode well.



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